100 Ficlets: Loki
by Goblin Cat KC
Summary: Beginning with Loki's fall from Asgard and how he rises again. Will contain slash. A story told out of order and based on 100 prompts.
1. 1 Breathe

_100 Prompts:: Avengers ~ Loki ((warnings unknown at this time))_

1. Breathe

What allowed a god to breathe in the vacuum of space? The airless realms between the stars grew still, silent as he passed far beyond his brother's cry and drifted into darkness, sliding between stars. But he breathed, and he lived, and both were hateful to him.

Utterly alone, he curled up as he tumbled through the aether, feeling nothing but the agony twisting his heart so that his stomach tightened and his teeth clenched. Not even the frozen nothingness touched him, hardly worse than the bite of Jotunheim. As he fell, glowing particles of dust and light passed around him like ripples in black water, trailing him in sweeps and eddies that spread outward, farther and farther, until they faded again.

Still he fell. Hours? Days? He did not try to measure time, so consumed with jealousy and grief that he thought he might burn up in his own intensity. Straight though a nebula like a comet, flinging up great swirls of a luminous tide, gasping in a cosmic miasma as it burned him and then let go, sending him out the other side as if he were diving into deep waters. With his back to his fall, he watched the universe slip away, the stars hovering on the surface of a universal ocean, growing distant and dark.

He would fall into a star—he was certain of it—and lose himself in a single instant of blazing torture. Closing his eyes, he tucked his head slightly and wondered how long his descent would last, flung out of heaven to a distant hell.

It could be hours or centuries, his waiting to die, and until then—no longer the god of mischief or chaos, he would become a god of falling, of descent and disappearance and an empty altar stone. A forgotten god in a pantheon of warriors, the caught breath between the lightning and thunder.

A faint glow warned him of something behind where he could not see, but instead of a burning star, he felt the weak gravity of a moon and the buoyant updraft of a faint atmosphere. Drifting down, he exerted his tired magic to slow his descent and landed gently on silver rock and sand, with small plumes billowing around him and then settling once more.

He lay still, content to merely breathe. Should he rise, he should have to try to live. Better here to wait for death, his numbed senses taking the stars for blurs and the thin line of light for the edge of the horizon. His breath came slower, became shallow. Somewhere nearby, coming closer, he heard the ominous rumbling of thunder and had the strangest fancy that perhaps his brother had somehow followed him after all.

: : :


	2. 2 Comfort

2. Comfort

Up here, on the cracked cement of an apartment rooftop, the din faded under a breeze swept in from the ocean. Lingering hints of fish and scum on the water still played here and there, but the air was clean. More importantly, it was cooler than the oven of the sun-soaked street.

Midgardians. From the ledge, Loki watched them crawl through the filth of their cement city. Exhaust fumes, they called it. Smog and plastic bags and cigarettes stubbed out on the curb, and dropped hot dog wrappers that jumbled up with spit out gum. Beneath him, the blare of car horns and train vibrations that muddled the thousand different radio stations and conversations.

There had been a time when they had prayed to him. Made stone altars and statues and left burned bulls and cows for Loki, God of Fire and Chaos and Lies, trusting him with prayers that they could never give to another god. How much of their worship had fallen to him when Odin turned away and Thor shattered the trees with his careless lightning!

The sun drew overhead, flashing white heat across the pavement, and on the street, the mortals quickened their pace into the shade. Loki leaned forward and gazed down at the pizzeria closing its door to keep in its cool air, the air conditioner in in the bar rattling on, and the coffee shop changing baristas, one of the girls bracing against the heat like she had walked into a furnace. His mouth twisted in a grimace.

Damn them all anyway. He knew what a cronut tasted like and longed for a quadruple shot frappuccino to go with it.

He'd known healing rooms and the Bifrost. Now he knew band-aids and the damp of the subway. At his summons, he could have wine brought and the servant flogged for taking too long...even if they snickered behind his back.

Crossing his legs, he leaned back on one arm and watched them like a child regarding ants. He could break their buildings so easily, crush them all beneath his boot. Thor loved this world. Wouldn't it be a fine gift for his brother, their wracked faces under shattered rock?

Instead he raised one hand and trailed his fingers through the air, leaving streaks of magic in their wake. The wisps of clouds thickened and grew heavy, and within moments, waves of snow drifted over the city.

Cars stopped and people leaned out of their windows. A few people hid under awnings, but more came out and stood in the flurries blown along the sea breeze, holding up their hands to catch every bit of ice. By the corner pharmacy, hipsters in shorts began to make a snowman.

"Snow in Hell's Kitchen..."

Loki raised an eyebrow. He hadn't heard the man sneak up on him, but he'd been focused on his spell, and he recognized the voice.

"'Hell's kitchen'?" he echoed. "I doubt that Mephisto has any use for such a thing."

"It's just the name of the neighborhood," Rogers said. "Well, it's a little to the left and a few streets down, but close enough."

Loki glanced over his shoulder. Rogers wore the ridiculous blue and red garb he favored in battle, but his shield rested on his back. No doubt Rogers could bring it to bear in an instant, yet for now he stood at a respectable arm's length and watched the snow, not the exiled god.

"Mind if I sit?" Rogers asked.

"It isn't my ledge," Loki said.

Rogers swung over and sat with legs dangling along the side. Loki glanced sideways at him. Rogers appeared content to watch the city enjoy its summer snowfall, completely ignoring him. Loki felt his skin prickle with the familiar anticipation of coming battle, but the energy faded as Rogers continued to sit there. Loki pressed his lips together. He would not be the one to start.

"We've been watching you," Rogers said after a moment. "For the past week or so."

"Your agents Wilson and Connor." Loki gave a faint nod. "You should teach them to make a better cup of coffee."

Rogers had the grace to sigh, not that Loki had noticed them-SHIELD agents had a habit of sticking out-but that the spy-turned-barista beneath them was earning no tips. "True. Fury chose them for their knowledge of the area, not how well they fit their cover story."

"Clearly." Loki leaned back, a little annoyed that several more hours would pass before he could hope to have that frappucino. "Is it SHIELD's hope that I'll lose my will to do evil with substandard caffeine to fuel me?"

"Not really," Rogers chuckled. "But we're curious. You haven't done anything more evil than pirate movies on your Stark phone."

His tone held a question. Loki glanced at him again and found Rogers watching him now, staring at him without heat but only cautious curiosity. Loki schooled his face to remain blank, not narrowing his eyes or frowning, resolving to give nothing of his emotions away.

"Is my brother with you still?" he asked.

Rogers gave a small, humorless laugh. "You know he isn't."

True. Loki had felt Thor's presence searching for him and then vanish up to Asgard again. But to be sure, perfectly sure... Loki flailed for surety and found none. Between his fall from Asgard, his-treatment-at the hands of the Chitauri, the mad rush of Midgard and Jotun and... To tell lies, he needed a firm anchor of truth, and his truths lay scattered and broken.

"So," Rogers prodded again. "No mass destruction lately."

"I bear them no ill will," Loki said, looking over the street again. "And I have no need of them."

"You mean the Chitauri don't-" Rogers started.

"The Chitauri can claim nothing more of me," Loki cut in, each consonant clipped and harsh. He turned his head slightly.

Rogers didn't reply. Loki had thought he would. Midgardians loved to hear themselves talk. That, at least, they shared in common with Asgard's warriors. The silence stretched, and Loki tapped his fingertips on the cement, then shifted again, feeling the edges of his shirt keenly.

"I cannot speak of them calmly," he said too quickly. "They are done with-they-why are you here?"

Loki turned, clutching the edge of the roof so that fine cracks spread from under his hands, his mask broken so that he stared at Rogers in full indignity.

"What do you want?" Loki demanded. "Your kind don't talk. If it's a fight you desire-"

"No," Rogers said, careful not to make a sudden move, his voice low and soothing. "I don't want to fight. I wanted to talk."

"Then talk," Loki said.

"I've been thinking about a lot of things," Rogers said. He leaned forward, hands on his knees, head bowed in reflection. "Of what I know about Asgard. About the Chitauri. About you. Thor called it madness."

"Thor calls a lot of things madness," Loki muttered.

"And you said you wanted to rule earth," Rogers said, looking at him again with a frightening level of clarity. "Yet you haven't tried again."

Loki met his gaze. "Maybe I'm biding my time."

"Watching whole seasons of tv shows and trolling people on Yamblr," Rogers said, "is not biding your time."

Loki felt the keen desire to show that he could be evil if he wanted to, galled at how childish it made him feel. Let Rogers watch him turn Hell's Kitchen into Hell's icy ninth layer and then call him...not so evil. Loki huffed. He wasn't sure of how to reply. He was working up to villainy? He would be villainous again soon enough?

"Do the Avengers lack a playmate?" he snapped. "No one to fight lately?"

"I wish," Rogers said softly. Then he shrugged and nodded at the coffee shop. "Wanna get a cup? I'd like to keep talking, if you don't mind."

Hesitating, Loki felt as if the air were thinner. He would not have considered it but that Rogers had asked. Had requested, not demanded. And he'd craved that cup of coffee for the whole morning. He glanced at Rogers and chuckled.

"In your outfit?" he said. "You're going to stand out."

"True," Rogers smiled, but he didn't seem to mind. "I think it'll be fine."

A new doubt crept into Loki's thoughts. "What of your friends? Won't they want to join us?"

"They're around," Rogers said, unapologetic that he had not come in perfect trust. "But I wanted to try this first, and they promised to give me the chance."

"Chance at what?" Loki asked. "I will not allow myself to be captured again, and your allies will not allow me to go free. We will fight, I will escape, and we shall do this again a few months hence. What could you possibly hope to accomplish by talking?"

"A third option," Rogers said, and his smile now was as reassuring as it was inspiring. "Because I don't like either of those choices."

Faced with that, Loki's curiosity gave him no choice.


End file.
